


Only if for a night (wish I could remember)

by InkyElster (IdeenElster)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Hangover, M/M, Morning After, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdeenElster/pseuds/InkyElster
Summary: Arthur woke up with a hangover and John goddamn Marston's naked arm draped over his waist.





	Only if for a night (wish I could remember)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short piece to get warmed up. This ship is eating my brain and there will be more even if it kills me.

Arthur woke up with a hangover, which wasn't really that unusual although he tended not to get smashed too often. Getting drunk equaled trouble in _his_ experience and the _amount_ of trouble depended on who was with him. 

But the last night couldn’t have been too bad, except for the headache. The room was bright with the sun high in the sky and shining right in through the windows. It was as if the light was purposefully stabbing into his eyes and he squeezed them shut, groaning and trying in vain to keep his head from pounding by the sheer force of his will. It didn't work. He wasn't in camp, that much was sure. There were no drapes in camp, for one, although they sure as hell didn’t keep out the light here, either. Usually he would have just passed out somewhere in the grass, preferably outside of town, after the night of drinking he'd had. 

Arthur shifted against the sheets. They were a little scratchy, the norm for a cheap hotel and probably so the guests didn’t linger for too long. He was naked and he sure as hell wasn’t the only one. 

A weight was settled across his waist, belonging to an arm, which in turn belonged to the person behind him. Arthur winced, partly due to the state of his head and partly because he had only the memories of the _beginning_ of the drinking. Most likely he'd picked up a prostitute, which was a shame. He hadn't lain with anyone in so long and now he couldn't even remember it and had lost some money in the process, too. But still, it felt nice to be held even if he would never admit to it out loud, least of all to the paid lady he was with. Maybe if they hadn't been in some hotel he could have fallen asleep again like this until she'd thrown him out and back onto his horse. It wasn't uncommon not to return to camp for a few days after all. It could have been nice.

He wasn't in the lady's house though, the lady wasn't even a real lady to begin with, but someone he'd paid to be with him. He was in a paid room and unwilling to waste more money on a passing weakness, so he squinted an eye open and looked at the arm. It was quite hairy and muscular and there was a scar along the hand that Arthur recognized. It was very much _not_ the arm of a woman, or at least not one of any woman Arthur had ever seen, and Arthur would have been quite comfortable not to admit that he knew who exactly it belonged to. Of course his bedmate chose that moment to wake up. So much for sneaking out and pretending to have amnesia that _included_ the morning after.

"Oh god," a voice said, also much deeper than any lady Arthur had ever met, and Arthur jerked around and stared at John goddamn Marston, who was just as hungover and naked as himself. There was no point in playing dense, unfortunately.

"Shit," Arthur ground out, which was the understatement of the century. 

John scooted away, yanking his arm back to his own side of the bed and Arthur, fool that he was, couldn’t stop his eyes from briefly roaming over John's front, for a moment uncovered by a blanket. They'd seen each other naked plenty of times of course, but never in circumstances such as these. Obviously. Arthur would have never confined to a living soul what exactly his feelings were for John goddamn-pain-in-the-ass Marston.

John’s eyes were wide, shock clear as day in them. “We didn't, right?” The hangover had made his voice even scratchier than usual and it send a shiver down Arthur’s spine. He ignored it, he’d become good at that.

Arthur pointedly looked between their naked bodies. There was dried come on both their bellies, which at least meant neither of them would be walking bowlegged back to camp, well more bowlegged than usual at least. He forcibly made himself stop thinking along those line of thoughts.

“'fraid we did,” Arthur drawled and rolled out of bed, refusing to look at John any further. God, he had beard burn on his inner thigh. What the hell had they been up to the night before? One thing was sure, he wouldn't put this into his journal, no matter how private he was with it.

Behind him, he heard Marston fall back against the bed with a groan of despair. “I promised Abigail I'd never be unfaithful to her.”

“You ain’t be telling anyone about this,” Arthur growled. “No one! Are we clear, Marston?”

He yanked up his trousers. Leave it to Marston to freak out more about being unfaithful than the fact he'd found himself in bed with a man. Granted, last time Arthur had planted one on him in a drunken stupor, John had ran for a year. He should have learned his lesson never to get drunk with John years ago.

“Put it out of your mind and I'll put it out of mine,” Arthur added. It was the only kind of peace offering he could think of. His heart was skipping unevenly in his chest, belying his calm tone. There was no need to panic about this as long as neither of them talked about it. It had worked for Arthur so far.

Silence was his answer, then the rustling of John sitting on his side of the bed. “Arthur…,” John stopped and Arthur quietly cursed him _not to talk about this_. “Yeah, you're right,” John finally said as if he’d heard Arthur’s thoughts, voice only shaking slightly. 

Arthur heard John dress on the other side of the bed and only turned back around when he could put his own hat back on his head.

They stared at each other across the expanse of the bed, seizing each other up. “It's best if we don't go out together,” Arthur said slowly, calmly as if he was speaking with a skittish horse. Marston looked the part, meeting his eyes only for a moment before he nodded.

Arthur swallowed down the sting that caused. Yeah, everyone left him and he couldn't blame them at all. He knew what he was like and he couldn't fault John for not wanting to be with him, beside the whole ‘being a man’ thing. Not with how things were. Hell, they wouldn't be able to brag about this like they may have done if the other had been some lady.

With a heavy sigh Arthur sat down on the bed, waiting while he heard John move down the corridor and taking the stairs. He looked around the room again. They'd lain together here the night before and he couldn't remember it. There was evidence on his body, but that was it. 

When enough time had passed, he got to his feet and walked out of the hotel, giving a warning glare to the keeper who gulped.

John was waiting by their horses, uncharacteristically quiet as they mounted. In fact they didn't say a word to each other all the way back to camp and for a week afterwards.


End file.
